


On Snow and Laughter

by Nimohtar



Series: Tales of Burgess [1]
Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Feel-good, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mix of Film and Book, ROTG Secret Santa 2019, Snow Day, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:00:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22035931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nimohtar/pseuds/Nimohtar
Summary: A winter homecoming, full of fun and surprises.My gift for the Rise of the Guardians Secret Santa 2019 Exchange.
Relationships: Jack Frost/Kozmotis Pitchiner, Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Series: Tales of Burgess [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2078874
Comments: 15
Kudos: 64





	On Snow and Laughter

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ChibisUnleashed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibisUnleashed/gifts).



> Written for Bunnimew for the ROTG Secret Santa 2019 Exchange! I tried to include as many requests as I could! Here’s a BlackIce Meet-cute AU, with BFFs Jamie & Jack, a smidge of embarrassed Pitch who owns it, and even a blanket. (Sorry I couldn't work in the Ents...) I hope you enjoy it. Xx
> 
> This is a mix of film and book canon, as I pick and choose which bits I like!

* * *

There’s something about the feeling of knowing he’s close to home that never gets old. 

Jack Frost loves to travel, don’t get him wrong; he loves visiting new places, meeting new people, gathering the little trinkets and books and stories that he brings back to share with family and friends - but he loves coming home too. 

It’s the way his heart beats a little faster in anticipation, the way he urges the wind to carry him just that bit higher, the way his eyes fix on the horizon straining to see the landmarks that mean he’s here. 

When he left, it had been the end of summer, and the air had just started to lose its heaviness, the leaves yet to turn to the fiery reds and oranges of autumn. 

Now, though, the world is white. Snow lies thick upon the fields below him, dusting the bare branches of the trees that line the roadside he’s following. The sky is a bright, clear blue, the sun a cold disc over his shoulder, and he laughs in delight.

If there’s any season he loves most, it’s Winter. 

It’s the stillness, the purity, a moment of magic while the world rests, before life renews.

To Jack, it is beauty, and freedom, and a promise. 

It speaks to his soul. 

He whoops with joy, and points his staff in front of him. “Go!” he commands, and the friendly wind curls around him and pulls him on. 

All too soon, he can see a small town in the distance. He would recognise Burgess anywhere - the large iron bell that adorns the tower of the schoolhouse, the low stone walls that mark its boundary, the frozen surface of the lake which in summer is home to the boats and trading vessels which come to Burgess’ small port. 

Of all the places in the world, this is his favourite, the one he calls home. 

He begins to descend, hurtling through the air with arms outstretched, his blue cloak flapping wildly around him. Dainty snowflakes stream in his wake, blown away by the buffeting winds as he glides gently down into the main square - the heart of Burgess. He comes to a stop in front of the statue of Thaddeus Burgess and his family, his feet touching lightly upon the thick snow at its base where it has been left untouched, though paths have been cleared around the rest of the square and between the streets and buildings. 

First one person, then another, notices him, and cries abound - his name called in welcome. For one who was once alone and unknown, it is a balm that soothes an ache deep within, a wound healed, but still a scar.

He gives Thaddeus’ iron foot a fond pat of farewell, and sets off walking across the square, waving at familiar faces and neighbours.

He knows just where to go first.

The most important buildings of Burgess line the square, and this includes the schoolhouse, so it’s almost no surprise that some daydreaming student saw his arrival and spread the word; when he arrives at the gates, the front doors are being thrown open, and children stream out - already clothed in scarves and gloves and warm fur coats and laughing in delight. 

In the lead, of course, is Jamie Bennett. 

Jack has just seconds to drop to one knee and brace himself before the small boy flings himself towards Jack, and he wraps his arms tight around him. Then more small bodies crowd around them, a chorus of “Jack!” in his ears until he topples over in laughter, buried under the weight of gleeful children and basking in their innocent joy at his return. 

“Stop! Stop! Let me up!” he pleads, and reluctantly, one by one, the children of Burgess give him room - all except Jamie, who remains stuck to his side. 

“You’re back! Jack! You were gone so long!” Jamie yells. 

“It wasn’t that long!” he protests, sitting up, but Jamie’s question has opened the flood-gates. 

“Where have you been?” shouts Claude. 

“Will you tell us stories, Jack?” begs Pippa. 

“D-did you bring us anything?” Monty asks. 

The questions continue without pause for breath, but before Jack can even think to answer them, a voice calls out from beyond the circle of children. 

“Jack Frost! I should have known - if there’s one person who can disrupt class like this, it would be you.”

Jack uses his staff to get to his feet, and grins sheepishly at the curly-haired young woman striding their way. “Hullo, Katherine,” he greets the teacher and story-teller of Burgess. “It’s good to see you too?” 

She tuts loudly, but there’s a lingering laugh in her grey eyes, and the curl on her forehead hangs loosely, a clear indication that she’s not as angry as she pretends. 

“I thought you said  _ I  _ was the most disruptive student,” Jamie pipes up, dragging himself upright and clinging onto Jack’s waist. 

“You, too, are the embodiment of mischief,” Katherine informs him, much to his unrepentant delight. With her hands on her hips, she surveys her excitable little brood. “Well, what am I meant to do with you all now? There’s less than an hour of lessons left, and you’re all so full of energy that I doubt I could get you to concentrate now…” She trails off and lifts a finger to her lips, tapping it as if in thought. 

The children hold their breath in anticipation. 

“I suppose....I could excuse you early, but only if...” she draws it out, and the children try not to squirm. 

“If?” Jack prompts, raising the tension higher. 

“Only  _ if _ Jack is willing to take you on for the rest of the afternoon, and see you all home safe and sound,” Katherine gives her verdict. 

Jamie whoops and jumps up in excitement, fist raised in the air, and the other children join in. Over their cries, Katherine gives her final instructions: “Make sure you wrap up warm, keep your gloves and scarves on, and make sure to let your parents know where you’ll be.”

“Yes, Miss Katherine!” they cry and then they turn their eager faces to Jack.

“Who fancies a snow day?” he asks, and a cheer is his answer. 

“C’mon, guys, get your sleds and skates and meet me back here!” Jamie orders, and then they’re scattering in all directions, eager to fetch their toys. 

Jack, left behind, turns a grateful smile to Katherine. “Thanks.”

She mock scowls. “Think of it as your punishment for interrupting school.”

“Playing with children - punishment? Hardly,” Jack argues, and slips his bag and cloak off his shoulders. Katherine accepts them willingly. 

“I’ll put these away for you, and I’d best make a start on some hot cocoa for after. Won’t do for them to catch a cold.”

“You’re the best!” Jack tells her, and then he too is off, lifting into the air on a friendly breeze, keen to turn his unexpected arrival into a memorable afternoon for the children. There are still a few hours of daylight left, and he’s not going to waste any of them. 

This is Winter, and it’s Jack’s time to shine. 

From the air, he calls on his powers of frost and snow. The square, half-cleared, thickens once more with white as soft snow begins to fall - the kind perfect for snowball fights, and snowmen. Ice rises from the ground to make slides and tunnels and towers to climb; monuments and walls and mazes that zig and zag over the open space.

The people walking past stop to admire the sudden rush of magic, and gather in small groups around the edge of the square. 

Jack pauses to spare a critical eye over his handiwork, slightly breathless from exertion. Raised voices herald the arrival of his charges, and he lands before them on the curve of his staff, arms stretched out to encompass his winter wonderland. 

“Woah, it’s amazing!” Jamie praises, eyes wide with glee. The other children huddle around him, eager to begin. 

“You think so?” Jack asks. 

“Yes!” They shout as one. 

“Everyone!” Jack demands their attention. “Let’s have a little fun!” he decrees, and throws his hands into the air. Soft snow begins to fall, and his personal brand of magic, even greater than the snow and ice and frost, settles over the children. 

Laughter bubbles up, smiles, giggles and wide-mouthed grins as the children rush off to discover the surprises that await them. And where they go, Jack is compelled to follow.

He and the children aren’t alone for long, for the people of Burgess are a close-knit, happy group, and will always share in the magic and joy of others. Henry the baker steps out to sell his pies and treats; Old William fetches his flute, Tall William his accordian, and the sound of their music and song fills the air; Ombric emerges from his library, exchanging well-wishes with those nearby.

Jack is in his element, and he is everywhere. 

On one side of the square he makes piles of perfectly formed snowballs for Petter and Sascha, on the other, he freezes the water of the fountain around Thaddeus for Cupcake to skate. He kneels down with Monty to scoop snow into the wobbly shape of a man, and then he’s directing a merry chase as Jamie and Claude race their sleds around the square. Rachel Bennett leads Sophie by her mittened hand and Mr Freddie carries baby Thomasina, and Jack creates scenes of ice to delight them, reindeer pulling North’s sleigh full of presents. 

“Pretty!” Sophie giggles, reaching out to poke her finger through the magic spell. 

“It’s beautiful, Jack,” Rachel tells him, and reminds him of his mother from long past. 

It’s almost too much, the tide of emotions. There are so many people, so many faces he recognises and loves. 

Except one. 

On the edge of the square, where the main road leads out of town, a tall, dark figure stands alone by the door of the town hall. His skin is grey, his hair is black, but his eyes gleam gold, though he watches the proceedings before him with disinterest. 

“Who’s that?” Jack asks, for the stranger was not here when Jack left. 

“His name is Kozmotis Pitchiner, though he calls himself Pitch,” Rachel replies. “He is here to study with Ombric.” 

It is not the first student to come to the wizard’s home, and Jack would have left it for another time, but then a girl no more than ten steps up beside Pitch, and she looks upon the other children with longing - and that Jack cannot allow. 

Ice flows from his bare feet, sweeping him in the direction he wishes to go, and he comes to a stop before Pitch and the girl. He ignores Pitch’s wary expression, and instead crouches down so his height matches the girl’s. 

“Hello, I’m Jack,” he introduces himself, his expression friendly. “What’s your name?”

She has the same strange gold eyes as the man, and her black hair is long and curls around the shoulders of her smart green coat. “Seraphina,” she replies without hesitation. 

“It’s nice to meet you Seraphina,” Jack smiles. “Would you like to come play?”

Seraphina’s expression brightens, and she looks up at the man. “May I,  _ faðir _ ?”

Pitch, her father, thinks on the request for a moment, before he gives a short nod. “Only for a little while, mind,” he allows, and his voice is deep and dark and it sends a shiver up Jack’s spine. 

_ Who is this man? _

“Why don’t you join Fog and Caleb and Ana?” he suggests, pointing over to where the children have joined in the snowball fight. 

“Okay!” Seraphina agrees, and then she’s running across the snow on dainty feet, her hair flying behind her. 

Jack turns to Pitch. It is not the first anxious parent he has had to reassure, although he’s not completely sure his assessment of the man is accurate. “It’s just a little fun,” he assures him, “she’ll be fine.”

Those gold eyes turn on him, and thin lips curl into a half-smile. “Believe me, I have no doubt of that,” he says with confidence. 

The spark of humour intrigues Jack: he is curious by nature, and Kozmotis Pitchiner has caught his attention now. 

“And you, will you join us, too?” he asks, and twists his hand before him until a ball of snow sits in the palm of his pale hand. He tosses it into the air and catches it deftly with his other hand. 

Pitch eyes him mistrustfully, his arms drawing up to cross over his chest. “Tell me,  _ Jack _ , do you often feel the urge to pelt new acquaintances with snow?”

Jack has made more friends through that method than he cares to admit at this moment in time, and Pitch’s warning is clear. He doesn’t usually play his tricks on those unwilling, except for Bunnymund, and it’s usually only when the Pooka has annoyed him beyond his usually patient limits. 

He lets the snowball fall from his fingers. “Most people don’t mind,” he admits. 

Pitch lets his gaze fall over the square and its wintry delights. “I can see that,” he comments dryly, another flash of amusement.

Jack huffs a soft laugh. It isn’t disinterest he senses from Pitch, he thinks, perhaps just a sense of not belonging that veers towards aloofness. He knows all about that. 

“How long will you be staying in Burgess?” he asks instead. “Rachel mentioned you’re studying with Ombric.”

“Me?” Pitch seems surprised. “Oh, no. Seraphina is the reason we are here, and I suspect we shall stay for as long as she needs it.”

“Oh!” It would explain why the young girl was not at school with Katherine, if she were studying magic instead. 

Before Jack can ask further on what powers Seraphina might possess, a panicked voice behind him screams “Watch out!” and he turns on the spot to find a sled hurtling out of control towards him, with Jamie frozen on the seat in fear. 

He reacts with instinct, leaping forward and sweeping his staff out in front of him - the wind answers to his call, and Jamie is lifted from the sled and to safety, settled gently upon the snow a distance away. His priority is the safety of the children - always the children - and so it is he forgets the  _ other _ vital factor. 

The sled crashes into him and knocks him back - his body collides with Pitch behind him, whose arms rise on instinct and wrap around him to try and steady them; Jack has a moment to marvel at the unexpected contact, the surprising strength and warmth of Pitch, before they both go sprawling on the cold ground below. 

And, because sometimes even the universe has a sense of humour, loosened by their impact against the side of the building, the snow on the window ledge above them comes plummeting down right on their heads. 

“Mmph,” he utters, his vision coated in white. 

“Hmmrrr!” complains Pitch below him, and Jack remembers that he may not need to breathe, but others certainly do. He rolls off to the side, and reaches up to brush snow from his eyes. 

Pitch pushes himself to sitting. Jack seems to have borne the brunt of their impromptu cold shower, but his black hair is still covered with snow, and he sweeps both hands through it, scattering the white flakes.

“Jack! I’m sorry! Are you okay?” Jamie comes running forward, his face twisted up with worry. 

At his heels is Seraphina, more curious than concerned. “ _ Faðir?” _

“No harm done,” Jack is quick to reassure them, and deftly rises to his feet. He steps up and ruffles Jamie’s hair. “See? We’re all fine. A little snow’s good for the soul, as they say.”

Jamie, mollified somewhat, gives a weak giggle. “That’s what  _ you _ say, Jack.”

“And aren’t I always right?” He lifts his eyebrows expectantly, and Jamie’s laugh becomes more genuine. 

Jack turns back and crouches down beside Pitch. Not wanting to distress the children, he lowers his voice. “Hey, are you okay?” 

“You will need more than that to take me down,” the man dismisses, and rises easily. Ignoring those around him, Pitch moves to retrieve the runaway sled, and holds it easily in his hands as he slowly approaches Jamie. 

“Well, Jamie Bennett,” he drawls lowly, “it is clear that you are unable to control your sled in the typical manner, and therefore require something...more disciplined.”

His movements are graceful, his tone predatory, and Jack recognises a hidden power and danger there, which he had not seen before. He scrambles to his feet, his staff gripped in his hands. Has he misjudged the man’s temperament so badly, he thinks wildly. Has Ombric been fooled, and allowed a danger into Burgess? He takes a step forward, ready to protect his friends and home. 

Pitch simply leans down and places the sled in front of Jamie, and as he rises, Jack can see black sand fall from his hands - twining about the front of the sled, and twisting and spinning in the air until it takes the form of a small...horse?

“What?” he blurts out. 

The small black horse lets out a snort and trots in place, attached to the sled by long, flexible ropes of the same magic. 

Pitch spares him a glance over his shoulder, and there is that quirk of his lips, as if he knows the image he had presented and is amused by Jack’s reaction. “My Nightmare should keep you out of trouble,” he says instead to Jamie. 

“Cool! It’s a sleigh!” Jamie says excitedly. 

“I want one!” 

“Me too!”

One by one, the children bring over their sleds, and Pitch obediently calls upon the shadow-sand, until a cavalry of horses and riders is trotting around the square: more sedate than the usual speed runs which Jack favours, but admittedly safer. 

Seraphina remains until the last, and though she has no sled, she mounts her horse with practiced ease, petting its neck. Pitch rests a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, whispering something softly to her. She nods, and with a click of her tongue at the Nightmare, she dashes away again to resume her games. 

Jack stands in the same spot and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Pitch…”

“You do not need to apologise,” the other man anticipates him, and comes to stand before Jack. Jack knows he’s tall, but he is surprised at just how much he needs to tilt his head to meet his eyes. 

“You have only heard one of my names, and it has not perhaps granted you the insight into my nature you may have wished for,” Pitch continues. “They call me Kozmotis, yes, but also Pitch Black, The Bogeyman, and the Nightmare King, for I am master of fears and terror and the dark things that lurks in the shadows.” Now he grins widely, revealing sharp, pointed teeth, and his eyes gleam. 

The hairs on Jack’s arms rise, his heart beats fast with nerves, and his mouth is dry as he swallows. 

And then Pitch blinks, and the moment ends. 

Jack takes a deep breath and lets it out in a rush. “That’s quite a trick,” he manages. “You… really had me scared there.”

“Force of habit,” Pitch demures, and brushes off some remaining flakes that rest upon his broad shoulders. “Let’s call it payback for the snow you managed to inflict upon me.”

“What? That’s not fair. I didn’t do that on purpose!” Jack protests, grinning. “You’d know if it was  _ my  _ snow. It has a bit more of a  _ kick _ to it.”

He reaches out, uncurling his hand until his finger points to Pitch’s nose: at the very tip, a single slowflake rests. He waits for permission, eyes locked with Pitch’s. The Nightmare King gives a little shrug, mutters under his breath something which sounds very much like “what the hell”, and lowers his neck to meet Jack’s finger, the snowflake brushing against the end of his nose. 

As he straightens, his whole body seems to relax; his eyes shine brightly, and the softest of blushes colours his grey cheeks. A gentle smile curves his lips, before he lifts a hand to cover his mouth, hiding it from view. 

It’s beautiful, though, and it’s enough for Jack. 

“There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks, his voice a soft secret between them. 

“Certainly a powerful trick of your own,” Pitch replies in the same quiet tone. 

“Jack! We need more snowballs!” 

Jack startles at the sudden shout, the circle of peace between them lost as the world interrupts. “Coming!” he calls back. To Pitch, “Are you sure you won’t join us?”

“Another time, perhaps,” Pitch declines, and retreats to his former spot by the window ledge. 

Jack accepts the refusal this time, for he knows that sometimes small steps will take him further than force. 

So he rejoins the crowd, and makes snowballs, and forts, and sculptures of ice in all shapes and sizes; animals the likes of which Burgess has only heard of in Katherine’s tales and Ombric’s books. The children play and race and laugh until their cheeks and noses turn pink from cold and they no longer have the energy to run any more. 

As the light fades, Ombric calls upon small fire sprites, who dance on a pile of coal in the centre of the square, and in the air above them. Jack lets his creations melt away as everyone crowds around the warmth, and Katherine appears with her promised hot cocoa, as Rachel brings out blankets to share around to keep out the chill. 

Jack has no need of one, but takes it all the same, and makes his way around the gathered people of Burgess. He can see Seraphina among the children, closest to the fire, toasting sweets in the flames and breaking off pieces to feed to the sprites. 

As he expected, Pitch remains in his solitary vigil, and Jack wonders what thoughts go through his mind as he watches the others before him. Maybe one day he’ll be able to ask. 

He holds out his offering. “I brought you this.”

Pitch reaches out to pluck at a corner of the blanket. “And what am I meant to do with this...knitted monstrosity?”

Jack rolls his eyes, and unfurls the blanket - one of Mrs Mona’s creations if he’s not mistaken - and throws it around Pitch’s shoulders. He gets a mild grimace in return, though Pitch does settle it more comfortably around himself. 

“It’s a blanket,” he tells him with exasperation. “Just accept it.”

“And you?” Pitch arches a fine brow. 

“Me? I don’t need one -”

His words are cut off as a tendril of shadow shoots out and wraps around his wrist; it draws him over to Pitch, where he lifts his arm and manoeuvres him to his side, curling the blanket around them both. 

“I don’t feel the cold,” he says, in case Pitch is unaware. 

“It’s a blanket,” Pitch repeats his words back to him, his tone only slightly mocking. “Just accept it.”

Jack laughs and gives in, covering himself more fully. The cold may not affect him, but he still enjoys the warmth of others, and Pitch doesn’t seem to mind Jack’s naturally chilly presence at his side. He relaxes, letting his gaze wander over the people of Burgess, his friends and family. 

“Welcome home, Jack,” Pitch says softly.

Jack smiles. “It is.”

\- End


End file.
